Subscribe To "...from the birds and the bees, to family trees..."

Friday, 28 February 2014

Pretty rich, I know – especially coming from me.By my own admission, I’m not the sharpest
tool in the shed.A few cards short of a
deck.Don’t have all the dots on my
dice.The lift doesn’t go all the way to
the top floor.A few …Enough said.

And to be truthful, I don’t mind the clinically stupid
people.The ones who are challenged in
some or other way.With them I am
exceptionally tolerant and extremely understanding.Patient and kind.

Nor do I mind the accidentally stupid people either.I fall in that category, far too often for my
own liking.But usually I eventually
realise it.Admit it.And have a giggle at my own expense.

But what I do mind, are the intentionally thick.The dim-witted.

As a rule I don’t like the word, “stupid”.Since my kids were teeny-tiny, I’ve banned
the word in my home.Telling them it’s a
swear word.A four letter word.One not to be used.And in general, I don’t voice it often, or
use it myself.But it certainly doesn’t
stop me from thinking it sometimes.

If that makes me unkind, I’m sorry.

The sad thing, is that the world is overrun with stupid people.It’s true. Some of them even serve in government. Scary thought!

And I think the greatest crime I’ve got against these
intentionally stupid people, is the way they assume that all around them are
stupid.The way they think we don’t see
through the bull.And the bollocks.

Take this guy in Dubai for example, Benison Zento.An Italian citizen, who had come over to
Dubai, as a tourist.He claims to have
been stuck in a shopping mall for a year.Unable to find the exit.Living
on fast foods only.

Right!Like we
believe that.If he was really that
dense, he surely wouldn’t be let loose in the world on his own.

Apparently, on Wednesday, he simply turned up at the
information desk, with his very tall tale.Complete with dishevelled clothing, hanging on to a heavily damaged
trolley.Sprouting forth about his 13
month ordeal.The horror.The terror.

I mean, he was SHOPWRECKED after all.

But wait, it gets better – he was so traumatised by his
ordeal, he’s been hospitalised.

I kid you not.

The Italian ambassador to the UAE, Sergio Giorgini, told
reporters, “He’s in a much better shape than one would expect after such a
horrifying experience,”.

Thursday, 27 February 2014

When it comes to everlasting love, I think it is fair to
say, that when looking for a partner, it is probably wise to set the bar quite
high.To look for someone, that you’re
not only in love and in lust with.But
that you look for someone, you’ll be able to sustain a lifelong friendship
with.A partnership.Someone that will interest you, for years and
years to come.Someone that you
genuinely like.At least most of the
time.Well, some of the time, would
probably do too.

But perhaps these are the desires and aspirations of mature
adults.People set on looking for a life
partner.People set on making informed
decisions, when it comes to the fickle science of love.A difficult task indeed.

However, when it comes to young love, none of these
considerations need to be counted.Nor
weighed.In fact, they can be
disregarded altogether.Maybe this is
because the goal of young love, is not the same as the goal of mature love.

The goal of young love, is that feeling of butterflies in
your tummy.That rush of overwhelming
infatuation, that leaves you blind and deaf to the world around you.

And though my kids are still very young, I have seen
snippets of this, in them already.Albeit at different ages and stages.

And one thing clearly stands out – their perception, views
and aspirations in and of love, are as different to ours, as night is to
day.As yin is to yang.As Justin Bieber is to Jimi Hendrix.As instant coffee, is to cappuccino.As …I’m sure you get the point.

And thus, in random order, not stating which of my kids did
this:My one son, after adoring the same
little girl for three whole years, finally worked up the nerve to ask her
out.And wonder above wonders, she liked
him back, and agreed to be his girlfriend.He was practically jittery with excitement.And upon asking him if he’d like to buy her a
little chocolate or something, to commemorate the glorious day, he agreed.And so off we went to get her a treat.The following day, I thought of him so much,
having to give his first little gift to a girl he liked so very, very
much.The second he came to the car,
after school, I asked him, if he had given it to her.Well, he replied, he tried to.But the thing was this – she was Catholic,
and had given up chocolate for Lent, and thus he ate the slab in front of her
during school break.No thought given as
to giving it to her, to keep and enjoy after Lent was over.Quite predictably, love did not last.In fact, I’m surmising, the flavour of
chocolate in his mouth, lasted longer than the love.Can’t even begin to tell you how surprised he
was.Boys!

Another of my children, is also rather gaga at times
(suppose you can guess which one).Loads
and loads of emotions.And I find it
rather interesting how easily affections are changed.That one person, they think is the best thing
in the world since sliced bread, can change into the unpopularity of chopped
liver.All in one day.Affections are easily squandered and traded
for the new best thing since sliced bread.And poor old chopped liver is simply discarded – just like that.I have cautioned and admonished about this,
but I suppose it is all a part of growing up.As long as there is no nastiness and meanness involved, what can one
do?The heart clearly wants, what the
heart wants.

But of all of my children, when it comes to the art of
love, one stands out and stands out by far.He has always had a bevy of beauties, star eyed in his wake.Taking it as his due, because he’s fabulous
of course.Why wouldn’t they like
him?He’s awinning catch.Well, in his opinion and mine of course.And what makes it so very, very sweet, is his
complete and utter open confidence.The
way it leaves him vulnerable, but he just doesn’t care.He wears his heart on his sleeve.Plain for all to see.I hope he loves with this same optimistic
abandonment all of his life.That he
doesn’t get hurt too much.And that the
one he finally gives his adult heart to, treats it as the treasure it will
be.Just yesterday, he brought home a
little love letter from a girl.The
sweetest thing ever.In it, she says, “I
really like you a lot.Do you like me
too?” And then, rather cleverly, she drew a few boxes with replies, so that he
could just tick his answer.And the
options were:Yes, No, Ofcors and
Absolutly.Gotta love young love!

Which leads to another point – I was “speaking” to a friend
of mine in Canada, about kids and love. And she was telling me about a friend of hers,
who has a five year old little girl.And
the mom felt that the little girl had not risen the bar enough with regards to
the little boy that she liked.And so
apparently, the conversation between mom and daughter went something like
this:“Alivia, you need to set your
standards higher in love, he picks his nose.” And in reply to that, the little
girl looked seriously at her mommy and says, "Yes, he does.But Mom, (all stern), at least he doesn't eat
it like some of the boys.".

Monday, 24 February 2014

I’ve been employing a highly effective avoidance strategy
for many years now.And to be perfectly
honest, the success ratio is rather high.Unparalleled in fact.Worthy of
mention.I might even share my tips.

I enjoy going out.Being sociable.With my friends,
and with my family.

And though Grant generally enjoys going out too, he is far
more of a home body.Loving nothing
more, than being at home.Relaxing.Being the king of his castle.

Now I enjoy being home too.Lots in fact.But, I do enjoy
people.Immensely.And thus social gatherings, in any shape and
form are my best.Hey, even a school
meeting is a social gathering.Just
saying.

I love watching people when we’re out.Chatting to many.Laughing.Taking in my surroundings. And
simply soaking up every little magic moment.

Mostly, I don’t really like to leave.Especially not early.Attempting to squeeze every last little drop
of goodness out of an outing.Making it
last.And last.And last.

Maybe this comes from a deep seated desire, to not miss out
on anything.My mom says I’ve been this
way from birth.Always alert and with an
eye on activity around me.And partaking
in that activity.This very same
personality trait leads to me not being overly fond of sleeping.Such a waste of time!

But inevitably, no matter where we are, or what we are
doing, there comes a time, in every outing, where my Grantie, most desperately
wants to leave.Where he longs, for the
comfort and familiarity of his castle.His kingdom.

But as for me?No
ways!We can’t leave yet!What if something fun happens?And we miss out on it?Perish the thought!!!

And thus, I’m always on the lookout for the tell-tale
signs.The wee look of boredom.Of “I’m over this”.Of “I really want to leave”.Of “How long until we can go home?”.The roaming eyes.The jiggling leg tick.The fiddling with the keys tick.The gathering all possessions tick.

It is at this exact moment, that I put phase one of my
avoidance trick into play.Though, I do
really have a few.Best I list them.1) Phase 1 - I pretend I have to toddle off
somewhere urgently.Quickly ask someone
something.Help clear up even, if
necessary.Any activity, that takes me
out of Grant’s sphere, so that he can’t actually say the words, “Let’s go
home”.2) Phase 2 involves sending
someone over to him, to engage him in conversation.Thereby distracting him.Normally a male friend.I might even supply an opening conversational
suggestion, for maximum delaying effect.3) Phase 3 – the word “coffee”
has been found to have wonderful, marvellous, restorative properties.As an avoidance tactic, it is highly
effective.Particularly, if the coffee
on offer is really good.As in filter,
espresso, cappuccino, etc.A quick cup
of instant has no power whatsoever.In
fact, it loses me points.And thus if
that is the only hot beverage on offer, I’d rather not offer it at all.It might actually serve to hasten Grant’s
desire to leave.4) Phase 4 – this is the most
powerful of all weapons in my arsenal.The big guns, if you please.And
actually, if I’m truthful, Phase 4, is so powerful, that it can be used in conjunction,
concurrently and parallel with Phases 1 to 3.Phase 4, is simply known as “The no-eye-contact-zone”.Now here’s my thinking.If he can’t see me or find me, he can’t tell
me he wants to go.And thus I might even
dispatch an envoy to put Phase 3 into the play – namely the coffee.If I’m really on the top of my game, I can
combine Phase 2 with Phase 3, and send a male friend over, with the coffee
offer, with instructions, to start talking to Grant once he’s with him.However, don’t send them with the coffee
readymade.This will rob you of
time.As you can be expected to
calculate brewing time in the effective execution of Phase 3, for optimum time
wastage.To increase the delaying power.5) Phase 5 – only once I have
exhausted Phases 1 to 4, can I put Phase 5 into play.By this stage, the dishes have been
cleared.He’s finished talking to my
envoy.The coffee has been
consumed.And despite my best efforts,
he managed to breach “The no-eye-contact-zone”.Chances are, he’s even uttered the words, “Let’s go home”.Now, and only now, do I resort to Phase 5 –
seeking personal property.I claim I
need to go and fetch my bag.Possibly
the cooler bag, if it’s been that kind of an outing.Usually “looking” for my camera, also works
quite well.Though desperate times call
for desperate measures, and sometimes, pretence of ignorance as to where said
items are, is also pretty successful.Scrounging around – pretending I’ve misplaced them.Useful for garnering at least about 5 extra
minutes.6 minutes, tops. 7 at a push, if you give it your all.

Take it from me – if you use my easy to follow steps, you
too will eventually reach the level of skill that I have already acquired.But be warned – it takes due diligence and
loads of practice.Preferably at social
gatherings.Perhaps I should accompany
you?And lead you through it.

Sunday, 23 February 2014

My days are filled with walks in the early morning (my wee
little me-time, and I love it!).Errands
and grocery shopping later in the morning.Admin and work, squeezed in between.Cooking at some or other point in the morning or afternoon, perhaps
early evening.Batting Jumping Castle
enquiries and mails and work related sms’ back and forth.And from 2pm, at the very latest, the crazy
kid-filled afternoons start.There’s
dancing and drumming.Cricket and
gym.Extra maths and high jump.Loads of homework – much needed
assistance.Projects that require
help.Orals too.Involvement at school, in terms of liaison
mom duties.Birthday parties to plan.Carting kids to and from parties they’re
attending.Kids friends to have
over.Clothes shopping with one kid, for
an upcoming sokkie.Just stuff, and
stuff, and stuff.Continually.

It’s making me terribly tired.

But perhaps the greatest drain on my energy levels at
present, is the kid-bickering in my home.It’s normal I suppose.Part and
parcel of having kids.But at present,
all three of my kids are at three very different levels in their
development.Three different
phases.And they rub one another
up.With expert skill.I’d go so far as saying they’ve got a knack
for doing just that.

This is extremely exhausting.As I tend to spend much of my day, policing
them.Trying to defuse tensions.

Maybe I should just leave them to it.Let them get on with it.The strongest will survive.Unless, there are weapons involved – all’s
fair in love and war after all.

And through it all, permeating everything, is the challenge
of a kid with ADHD.It’s hard work.A bottomless pit of reminding to do
stuff.Saying the same stuff over and
over and over again.It’s as if there’s
no residual memory.Some things will
most likely never sink in.Telling the
same kid, a few times a day, to please remember to use their safety belt, each
time they get into the car, is terribly tedious.For that kid, it’s a boring detail.Not worth remembering on their own.There’s too much else, to think of for
them.This is but one small
example.The list is actually endless.

Picking up the slack.Reminding siblings to be patient.Finding the balance and trying the pinpoint the exact spot where ADHD
stops and bad behaviour starts.Being
empathetic and understanding.Of feeling
bone weary tired.

And though I try and be in control, and calm, and the voice
of reason in my home.Keeping the ship
pointing steadily ahead.Forging a
course that is right and true.Using
hidden reserves of patience and compassion with all in my home.Urging caution.Ensuring all have their needs met.That everyone feels heard.And valued.And appreciated.

It.Is.Making.Me.Exhausted.

There are just so many demands.Each person forgets that they’re not the only
one.That while the main concern in
their life is their problems, and how huge it is, it still is their ONLYy
concern.Each worries about
themself.And mainly themself.

Whereas, for a mother and wife, you take on the challenge
and problems of all in your home.Apart
from that which is happening in my life, I take on that which is happening in
each kids life, and my husband’s too.

And thus, I told my family yesterday, that I am in need of
a romantic holiday away.For one…

And I mean it.

To be fair, they seem to be a bit more scared of me
today.Considerate too.Me-thinks they’re perhaps getting it.That they’re pushing me too far.

Cause the scary thing is this – if I crack, they’re all a
gonner too.

Anyway, I’m thinking Venice.Maybe Mauritius.At this stage, even a hotel down the road
will do.

Thursday, 20 February 2014

I sometimes think I feel too much.My heart is small and it gets bruised fairly
easily.Personally, I’m quite tough
though.At least that’s what I’d like to
think, and con myself into believing.But
I feel the pain of others so easily and it makes my heart ache for them.My veins are filled with empathy,
understanding and compassion.I hurt for
others.

At times, I wish I could turn this ability off.Give my heart a reprieve.A breather from feeling.But it’s a stubborn and determined little
organ.And it simply won’t let go.

A few months ago, a family in our community, lost their
beautiful boy tragically.In a very
unexpected and freak-accident kind of way.Something that could never have been anticipated.And it cut me deep.

For weeks and weeks afterwards, it would just keep on
spinning and spinning through my mind.Bothering me.Haunting me.

He was just fourteen.His whole life was still ahead of him.Such a talented boy.One that was
going to make waves in this world – he already was doing just that.A natural leader.A well liked, well respected person, even
though he was so young.

And then, just like that, his precious life was cut short.

I didn’t even know him.I just knew who he was.Knew him
by sight.Had met his dad many, many
years ago.He’s the very best friend, of
my very best school friend’s brother.The
father, an amazing and talented man too.In the spotlight in our country for his own talents.And there was his delightfully bright boy,
following in his footsteps.

He was the Head Boy at my children’s Primary School.A very bright star.Had just recently moved on to the High
School, where my eldest son is.Luke’s
in the same class as his cousin.The boy’s
sister, in my daughter, Amber’s class.And
a few short weeks before his death, on a holiday trip with my mom, they were
camping right across the bungalow my kids were staying in.Swimming daily, in the same heated Warmbaths.Who would ever have thought.

And though many months have passed, since that awful day in
August, the memory still lingers.Of how
one’s whole life can change, in the blink of an eye.One adventurous misstep, by an exploring
child, can end in tragedy.Just like
that.

No rhyme.No reason.No advance warning.No nothing.

They woke up that morning, and all was right with their
world.But by lunchtime, their lives had
changed forever.Never to be the same
again.Forever more to feel loss.

They will never wake up unburdened again. They will never wake up forgetting what happened. They will never wake up not missing him. They will never wake up not longing for him. They will never wake up, not wishing they could go back in time. They will never wake up free again.

How can one fathom it?How can it be?

I still think of them often.When I see the family.Perhaps I drive past them.I see their daughter.Amber speaks of the sister, her friend.When I see my friend, and she tells me of
their heartache and pain.

Wednesday, 19 February 2014

I’d like to send a little note to parents of perfect kids –
they’re not.

They’re human.Just
like you.Just like me.

We all think our kids are the proverbial bomb.The bees knees.The sharpest tools in the shed.

But I do believe that it is healthy and balanced to know
and understand that they’re not perfect.They’re perfectly fallible.Just
like all of us.

I think that the mantle of expecting perfection from our
kids, is a very burdensome one for them to wear. To feel the expectation of parents always
resting on their shoulders.Needing to
make decisions in life, purely to please parents, and not put a foot out of
place.Can you imagine the strain?The unbearable tension?

Because inevitably, something will go wrong.Parents of perfect kids, don’t often cope
with this.And their children know
this.And thus they have two options –
hide the truth, or face the shame.

And I think that this is often what happens – kids lead
double lives.Knowing their parents
won’t cope with the knowledge of who they really are.

And therefore you get a very elitist groups of
parents.Living under the illusion, that
their kids are completely and utterly perfect.

And the great sorrow in that, is the fact that they don’t
know their kids.Who they really
are.All they know, is the half painted
picture, their kids want them to see.Not the whole thing.No techni colour
details added.No wonderful shading too.

Cause little do they know that their “perfect” kids are
most likely getting up to all shades of mischief behind their backs.And therein lies the awful truth.They’re none the bloody wiser, cause they
actually just don’t really want to have to deal, with having to deal, with
imperfect kids.Kids that didn’t get the
memo about being just so.Kids that
experiment, put themselves out there and do average, normal, age appropriate
things.

Most often “perfect” kids, are the product of parents, who
can’t cope with the notion of their kids being fallible.Parents who strive for perfection in their
offspring, because they couldn’t reach it in their own lives.Who are now trying to live vicariously
through the lives of their children.

And I think more’s their loss.Cause quite often when we are humbled, by the
actions of ourselves and our kids, we grow as people.We grow closer.We grow a heart.

My kids, though perfect in many ways, are human and
fallible.Just like me.They stumble, and they fall.But we stand up once more.And I’m blessed if they turn to me when this
happens.If they don’t mind me seeing
them vulnerable and lost.

I have seen similar poses, by politicians across the world,
in flood damaged areas.Perhaps they
learn how to do it at Politician School?Pass rate is only achieved, when a suitable expression of compassion and
empathy is perfectly married to the correct body language and facial
expression.

And somehow or other, with the addition of a few applicable
and appropriate props, they are able to transpose this look, pose and demeanour
for other relevant occasions too.

Though perhaps I am being rather unfair.In the case of a natural disaster or great
calamity, it is encouraging that they at least step out of the comfort of their
offices, to connect with the people.To see
the damage first hand.To try and get a
feel for the magnitude of the damage and people’s great suffering.

I would imagine that it makes the victims feel that their
plight is being heard.That the
governmental powers that be, actually do care.It is probably fairly encouraging as well.And let’s face it – it is really good for the
gears of government, to get an appreciation for their people.

Hopefully it guides them, in allotting help.In trying to make a difference.

Still, I find the whole “21 Pics of politicians in wellies,
staring at floods” thing quite funny.Not
because floods and suffering are funny.Far
from it.But I find it funny, because it
shows me that people have a sense of humour.That we seek to find order and patterns.And that any grouping of people, animals, or things, is thought
provoking.

In addition, I would rather look at “21 Pics of politicians
in wellies, staring at floods”, than “21 Pics of politicians, going out for
lunch”.Or “21 Pics of politicians picking
their nose”.

Just saying.

And so, “Wellie on soldiers”.Very, very happy that you’re out there.Doing something.

Monday, 17 February 2014

I will be exiting primary school, no longer bright eyed and bushy tailed
17 February 2014

Notwithstanding my own childhood, I entered Primary School,
as an eager mom of an eldest child in Grade 1.This was the January of 2005.

I will finally be exiting Primary School, as a weary,
slightly battered and bruised, no longer bright eyed and bushy tailed, tired
mom, of a youngest child in Grade 7.This will be in December 2017.

It’s fair to say, that by that time, it will have been a
very, very long haul.

I still have three years and 10 and a half twelfths to
go.Yet surprisingly, considering the
stint I’ve already done, it means I’m nearly there.Currently busy with year ten, out of
thirteen.

But still it won’t be done.I will simply have exchanged Primary School for High School.And as such, I have entered High School, as a
slightly beleaguered mom of an eldest child in Grade 8.This was the January of 2012.

And I will finally be exiting High School, as a haggard,
worn out, ragged, most likely disenchanted mom, of a youngest child in Grade
12.This will be in December 2022.

My brain can’t even compute that.Eighteen years of carting kids to school.

And with a wee bit of luck, varsity life will simply
continue on from where schooling left off.Though perhaps by that stage, they’ll be carting themselves.Walking even.

It is amazing, how much of our life as a parent, is geared
and dedicated towards the education of our children.We work, so that we can earn a decent salary,
to send them to a good school.To get
them all of the bits and bobs they need at school.We drive them around, to school and to
sport.We make sure they have the right
kit.We supervise homework and help
study for tests.We help with projects,
and guide them along.For all of that
time.

But perhaps one of the most challenging bits about school,
is the seemingly never ending amount of paperwork.At times, I feel a bit like a celebrity.Forever jotting down my John Hancock.Signing this, and signing that.Always the signature.

When Luke was in Grade 1, it was a treat. It felt special, to be treated like an honest-to-goodness-responsible-adult. Like the mother of a school going child. As if I was now old enough to be recognized for my authority. Like I got to make decisions (standard school photo package, or not - can help as a timekeeper at athletics day, or can't - R5 "penalty" fee to be paid for the luxury of wearing civvies). But, I must confess – the novelty has worn a
bit off.Mostly because one can’t simply
sign.It’s not that easy you see.Firstly, you have to usually diarise.As it is generally something important.A meeting, an outing, some place important,
either you or your kid have to be, etc.Secondly, you usually have to part with some cash.Raffle this, school photo’s that, etc.And thirdly, I have three kids – which
naturally means three times the amount of notices and letters.Coordinating all of that, takes a fair amount
of planning.And if I say so myself, a
fair amount of skill too.

From a school point of view, I completely understand.These are things they have to do.Are obligated to.And I appreciate being continually kept in
the loop.And having to part with cash,
is part of the deal.It’s expected as
such.Normal.Part and parcel of every single school.And I have the biggest amount of empathy for
school secretaries everywhere.The mere
thought of all of those endless reply slips coming in daily, must be an
absolute nightmare.

From a parent’s point of view, it’s just hard to keep pace
at times.To ensure you have exact
amounts of change, as is required.To
remember all of the details. And reply slips not returned, letters not responded to, translate into time-outs for kids. So one has to be on the ball. Switched on. Wide awake.

But I suppose that’s why they invented diaries and
fridges.Though the problem with having
a diary is this – you must a) remember to write in it, and b) remember to open
in up to look and see if you must actually remember something.You see my point?Too much remembering to remember.Counter-productive, if you like.

Which is why fridges really make more sense.Not only do they keep your food fresh for
longer, they make excellent notice boards.School letters stuck down with magnets all over – in most empty
spots.And at times, my fridge looks a
bit like a collage.Or a modge-podge
creation.

Which leads to my next request – I really wish they would
stop printing school notices on boring old white paper.Or those sickly shades of insipid yellow,
baby blue, and limp pink.